


Moving Forward

by Galaxy_Raven



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-05-19 05:31:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19350484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galaxy_Raven/pseuds/Galaxy_Raven
Summary: A look at how various inquisitors deal with losing their hand after Trespasser, starting with Astrid Cadash.





	1. Control and Comfort

Astrid sat alone on her borrowed bed, stripped down to her underclothes, her knife gripped in her right hand.  

It was a couple days since they tracked Solas down, since he had stolen her hand, since she had declared the Inquisition disbanded.

_Fucking Paragon’s Asses, stupid Dalish god, fucking Fen’Harel!_

While never friends, Solas’s betrayal was one she should have seen coming. He had spoken even less about his past than she did of hers and everything he did say was vague and uncertain.

But she had trusted that he was safe, since Cole liked him and he in turn looked after the spirit boy. She had trusted that he cared about the Inquisition, about defeating Corypheus.  

But he was just a manipulator. A puppet-master. A liar and deceiver.

And she had danced to his fucking tune. Like a good little pawn.

_I’m a fucking fool._

Now, she was without an arm, she couldn’t use her bow, she had trouble doing simple things like playing cards or eating…

_Weak._

Or braiding her fucking hair.

_Alone._

She had had to wear her hair down since she lost her arm and she hated it. It got in her face. People saw it. She couldn’t control it. It got tangled and frizzy and…fuck, she hated it.

Astrid lifted her knife and roughly hacked at her waist long red hair, chunks of it falling to the floor. Hair she had kept long for years, a defiance to the dirty filthy places she came from, a way to show, even when she was at the bottom, that she had some control. That each braid was her choice. A luxury that she chose.

And now that was gone.

_Fuck Solas._

Half-done, with hair cut worse than Sera’s, she just sat there, staring at the mirror. Her reflection was mocking her. Chopped hair, scars criss-crossing her body, a stump where her arm should be.

_What the fuck am I going to do?_

**

That was how Bull found her. Alone, bits of hair dropped around her, her dagger held so tight her knuckles were white.  

He quickly took in the scene and gently approached her, keeping his voice low.

Her whole body was tense, her face frozen in disgust. The fact that she hadn’t turned when he entered, hadn’t met his entrance with a weapon was worrying and completely out of character. In all their time together, she never let her guard down.

“Hey, Kadan, let me help you with that.” His large, warm hands took the dagger from her hand. He sat next to her, the bed creaking under his weight. Astrid didn’t even turn to look at him. She just stared at her reflection. Bleak. Broken.

The fierce, fiery woman he fell for was hollowed out, her certainty taken from her.

Carefully, he touched her hair, watching for her reaction. He wanted to see some kind of reaction from her. Slowly, he lifted a bit of hair, running her knife across it, cutting it short. Still nothing.

Shit, she loved her hair. Took quiet, defiant pride in it. It felt wrong to cut it.

Bull paused, thoughts spinning as to whether this was a good idea.

“Don’t stop.” The words were forced, stark and stained. A plea disguised as a demand.

The words solidified his actions. Methodically, he cut her hair. Each strand settling around her. The red as bright as her temper, as fiery as her tongue.

He stopped to survey his work, the even cuts leaving her hair a couple inches long, short and wild.

“Shorter.” She said, through gritted teeth. Her eyes flicking briefly to his eye.

_Are those? Shit._

Tears were gathering in her eyes, but they didn’t fall. He had never seen her cry. Not once. Not in pain, or laughter. He had to clamp down on his own anger. It wasn’t time for him to feel it. This was her time to deal, to let it out. But, he was certain of one thing, Solas was going to pay for this.

Bull loved her hair, how it felt in his hands, how it glowed when she let it down in the firelight.

But he loved her infinitely more. Long hair or bald. He loved this woman.

Dutifully, he kept cutting. Thinking back to his lieutenant, he buzzed the sides of her head, leaving stubble along the sides and back, just a wide strip of hair left. He paused again, waiting for her instruction, to see if this was enough or if she wanted it all gone. Since no words urged him on, he stopped and set the dagger aside.

Bull ran his hand over her scalp, brushing free the loose hair. The tenderness he held for her…it was all consuming.

Something the Qun would have reprogrammed away, beaten out of him. Something he would never have thought to find in this world or to even want. Something he would fight for with everything he had left in him to keep.

**

Bull’s hand was warm on her head. Calming, centering. Reminding her that she was not alone.

It had been decades since her hair was this short. She hadn’t even cut it when there was a lice outbreak in camp or when it got caught in things.

Now it was mostly gone, shaved close on the sides, just the top left shaggy and loose.

She felt something wet and hot on her face. Tears were spilling down her cheeks, the traitors. Her control was slipping even further away.

Astrid turned away from her reflection, unable to stand looking at herself for a minute longer. For the reflection that was unfamiliar.

Bull’s arm eased around her, slowly, giving her time to back away or slap his arm down. But she couldn’t find it in her to care, to protest, a part of her desperately needing him.

Soon, she was cradled against his broad chest. He rubbed circles in her back, along her thighs, her arms. Massaging her muscles. She started slightly when he touched her left arm, what was left of it, jarring her.

Her simmering rage rose, almost choking her. She had once considered cutting off the arm herself, making that decision. But Solas had fucking yanked it off of her, stealing her choice, taking the power she had been saddled with but had made her own.

_I hate him._

Arm or not, she was deadly. She would no longer be a pawn.

“I’m going to fucking kill Solas, Bull.” She whispered out.

He tensed, just a little, but kept running his hand over her body, reminding her she was still there. “And I will help you, Kadan.”

A part of her soul, if she even had one, was soothed by his words. She laid her head against his chest, breathing deeply, repeating words to herself.

_I’m not alone. Not alone. Not weak. And not alone._


	2. Lost and Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hela reflects on what happened at the Exalted Council and what the future will hold, for her and her wife.

It was strange being at Skyhold now, most of the clatter and din that followed the Inquisition army faded, as they moved on to other things, just a small contingent of the Divine’s Guard left behind, a small group to keep the place in order, more an outpost than a base.

Hela was on the roof of the tavern, swinging her legs and rubbing at where her left arm used to be. It felt so strange at times, like the fade memory of it was still there. And sometimes it itched, which was rude. It was a nuisance, more than anything. 

Two months. It had been two months since the Exalted Council, since she found Solas and had that little bomb of information slung at her, since she lost her arm and the anchor.

It was surreal, at times. Well, most of the time.

It left her feeling a little lost, the world suddenly so different from what she thought it was.

The man she pranked and joked with, who she had kissed, albeit in a dream, someone she had called friend…he was Fen’harel. Fucking Fen’harel!

For years, she had been called blessed of Fen’harel by members of the clan, which was a curse more than compliment, but she had taken it in stride. She thought of all the times she had used his name (or was it a title?) as a curse. Sometimes in front of him.

It was too damned weird.

_Turns out those clan members were prophetic, huh._

Hela still have not written the Clan about what she had learned. She didn’t know even how to begin to say such a thing, when she didn’t know what she thought of it herself.

Her hand went up to touch the lines of her vallaslin, as she found herself doing so many times since she drank from the Well of Sorrows, since she found out what happened to her patron, Mythal. And oh, those voices left little doubt that Solas was telling the truth. Those annoying, persistent little voices that would rise up to fill the silence.

Hela shook herself, pulling away from the thoughts that plagued her. She could not do anything about it this very minute, so she shouldn't dwell on it. She would have to soon. She and Sera would be visiting the Clan soon, to officially introduce her wife to her family. Sera was stressed out, though she tried to hide it. Her love, who didn’t care what anyone thought, was worried about what her family would think of her. It was…sweet.

So, she lined herself up and leapt and rolled to the ground, bouncing back up in a flash. Her balance was still a little off, but she managed to roll with the fall and only slightly bruised herself in the process.

_Now, where is my vhenan hiding?_

**

It did not take her long to find Sera in the stables, a small group of children gathered round her. Children of the soldiers and servants stationed here.

The group of six were listening with wide-eyes as Sera dramatically told some tale.

“And then, Inky jumped in front of the beast, draggin’ the wounded man away from its jaws, just in the nick of time! For him! But, that giant, craggy monster leapt forward and sank it’s teeth into her arm, biting it clean off! There was blood everywhere! But Inky just shot fire at it, taking the thing down with one arm lodged in its maw!” Sera was on the ground, acting out the part of both bear and inquisitor in this fabricated tale. The children were enthralled.

Hela had to stifle a laugh, not wanting to interrupt the show, but she would admit easily that she was equally enthralled. Her wife was multi-talented.

After rolling around a bit, to properly show the intensity of the fight, Sera jumped back up and bowed. “And that is how the Inquisitor lost her arm.”

The children clapped, smiles all around. Hela leaned against the barn door as she watched.

As the applause faded, one of the children raised their hands hesitantly, “You mean the inquisitor’s arm was really eaten by a bear?”

“Yup.” Sera winked. “A giant bear.”

Now Hela was offended.

_A bear? I’m friends with a bear! No bear could take my arm!_

“Sera! How dare you lie about this!” Hela exclaimed, stomping into the barn up to Sera, the children gasping at being caught by the Inquisitor. Her ears twitched, fighting a grin. “It was a dragon, not a bear!” She gave Sera a wink, twirling to face the children. “Now, this is how it really went…”

**

They sat together in the hayloft, legs dangling off the side, leaning against each other. Hela’s hair was blessedly short, cut as a prank by Sera months ago, but the length suited her now. It was actually getting a bit long, falling into her eyes often.

The children had loved their combined story of the dragon that ate the inquisitor’s arm, although Hela insisted on playing the dragon, in retaliation for Sera forgetting and saying a mere bear had disarmed her. And hey, she had the fire to go with the role. They may have gotten a little overzealous with it, since the kids were laughing by the end of the tale.   

_Oh well, they were entertained. Maybe we can tell the story to the kids in the Clan…_

Sera interwove their fingers together, as Hela hummed a tune, something Maryden played before she left.

“Inky, you ‘kay?” Sera asked, her voice soft and serious, rubbing the back of Hela’s hand with her thumb. “Cause if you aren’t, that’s okay and we can deal with it.”

Hela paused and thought about it. Yes, she was still reeling from what they found out about the Elvhen gods. Yes, she had lost an arm. Yes, she was still the head of an organization that could become corrupt, under the Divine.

But, had her love by her side, Dagna was already working on a design for a prosthetic arm, something infused with lyrium to augment her casting, and she had her allies, her friends, spread across Thedas, waiting for her call. In the past, such a thought would leave her feeling unworthy, questioning whether it should be her that wields such influence. But she had earned her place and she would see the Inquisition through, where ever it leads, to whatever end with Solas.

“I’m alright, Sera.” Hela said sincerely. Then, quirking a smile, amended, “Well, mostly _all_ right now.” She waved her stump in emphasis.

Sera sputtered out a laugh, burying her face in Hela’s neck. “Oy, whatever, at least you didn’t lose the tattoo.”

The matching bees and hearts tattoo they got, on their left arms. Gotten after too much to drink, but never regretted. A physical sign of their connection, serving a similar purpose to Hela’s vallaslin, meant to represent something more, carrying love and belonging.

“Well if I did, we would have just had to get even more obnoxious one to replace it.” Hela said. “You could design one, right?”

“You betcha, Inky.” Sera promised, snuggling closer. “Anything for you.”

Hela smiled and basked in the moment.

Whatever the future held, they would face it together. Arm or no arm, Inquisition or not, they had each other and their friends, some close as family. They had found each other and that was something. 

Solas better watch it. He didn’t realize what he left behind.


End file.
